A Fine Line
by KikoWest
Summary: She can't tell when it first started -- a hint of cologne in the bed sheets, a large hand on her shoulder. It's lack of sleep, stress, food poisoning. It's anything but what it really is.


She can't tell when it first started -- a hint of cologne in the bed sheets, a large hand on her shoulder. It's lack of sleep, stress, food poisoning. It's anything but what it really is.

"You can take some time for yourself, Ami-chan," Minako tells her one morning. The look on her face suggests this is an intervention, buffered by the pre-dawn light and the layer of sweat slowly cooling from their jog. "Everyone would understand."

"I know," says Ami. "But I'm fine."

Tokyo Palace is a diamond in the sky, and they head back surrounded by an uneasy silence. In the distance, a train whistles, and Ami thinks she might know how it feels to scream that loudly.

Someone stretches between the two, an arm thrown to the sky. Minako unconsciously steps away.

...

He's successful, ambitious, articulate, and He's _interested_. For a little bit, she is, too. That's the natural course of things, right? Eventually, it wouldn't be just Usagi and Mamoru celebrating anniversaries, holding hands, and making plans. Everyone's expectant. Makoto makes her special cake, and Minako tries to leave a more risqué set of panties in Ami's sock drawer. Rei tries to scowl less when He's around, and Usagi smiles like an indulgent mother, hearts in her eyes and fond memories leaking from her ears.

As fast as it starts, it stops. Mars takes over His firm, and Ami goes back to the library with a muttered apology. She doesn't answer questions. Surprisingly, it's Mamoru who corners her a week after He leaves. His dark hair sticks up at awkward angles from how he worries it.

"Did something happen, Ami-chan?" he asks, a little embarrassed even though he's comfortable as Big Brother. Mamoru doesn't like to think about the senshi and what they might do with men (or women) behind closed doors. It's uncomfortable territory -- like discussing sex and grandchildren with in-laws. Mamoru feels he has to ask, though. Just to be sure. "He didn't hurt you?"

She looks just as awkward. "No. Nothing happened."

There's truth to it. Mamoru can see it in her eyes. He leaves her with a kiss on the temple, shrugging off the slight feeling of dissatisfaction. _Ami will talk when she's ready_, he tells himself.

But Ami is closed mouthed, staring out the thick glass window. Opposite of Mamoru's warm endearment, there's the ghost of a dry chuckle and a cold breath on her neck.

"You could just tell them that he wasn't your type," says pale, full lips. "They don't believe you have one, anyway."

She rubs her face like she's trying to rub herself out of existence.

"Go away," she whispers, though no one's around to hear.

...

He's a shadow -- solid in the peripheral and hazy straight on. There's dullness to his color, like someone put him on mute. She wishes they'd do the same to his mouth. He's always talking, just like he's always watching. He stares over her shoulder in the lab, sits in the empty chair by her side at dinner, smirks during her presentations, and takes over her bedroom like he has always belonged there. She does her best to ignore him, her delusion, but can't stop the blush that creeps over her body every night when her dress drops to the floor.

He whispers to her when the light turns off -- things she'd never heard before or could imagine coming from any respectable mouth. It makes her burn.

She tells herself she's not insane. It's her mantra, even though she doesn't believe it.

...

"How was it for you after you remembered?"

She doesn't know why she's asking Rei. There could be a thousand explanations: Rei is there. Rei is stable. Rei is certain. Rei looks at her like she's still Ami, and not this new creature she feels like she's becoming. Yeah. She'll go with that last one.

"What do you mean?" asks Rei. She's helping in Makoto's rose garden. The tiny cutters in her hand make clear, sure snips. A few red petals smear their blood under her sandals.

"Just..." Ami trails off, trying to relocate her purpose. Behind Rei, he's quietly watching. "Did it bother you?"

Rei shrugs. "It did, but I kind of expected it. Things like that, they scar your soul."

"Are you all right?" Ami asks. She can hear Minako, Makoto, and Usagi parroted through her voice. It's their favorite question now-a-days.

Wiping sweat from her forehead, Rei leans back on her heels. She's thinking, Ami can tell, but her expression is neutral.

"Yeah. I don't think about it much anymore," says Rei.

She's being honest, and Ami feels part of her heart break. He smiles at her, a wolfish, conquering grin.

"I was just curious," Ami mumbles.

Rei looks at her, seemingly for the first time. Her dark eyes are shrewd under furrowed eyebrows. There's a little taste of energy in the air, and Ami feels her body unconsciously block it out, block Rei from sampling a bit of her soul.

"Does it still bother you?" If Rei feels the wall, she doesn't show it. Her tone is nonjudgmental, even if her gaze is unfaltering.

Ami opens her mouth. For a moment, she wants to tell her everything, every embarrassing detail from start to finish. Her eyes start to sting at the same time there's a flutter of transparent fingers across her cheek. He towers over her. Rei's waiting, but her eyes un-focus for a second, distracted. She looks past Ami, and they're both holding their breath.

There's nothing but the faint buzzing of insects and the sound of the wind rolling across the rose bushes.

"No, it doesn't bother me," Ami answers. The lie is thick in her mouth.

Rei frowns, but turns back to her work.

"Are you going to keep me your dirty little secret?" he whispers in her ear.

"Leave me alone," she pleads out the side of her mouth, an unconscious reaction to his too familiar presence.

Rei's staring at her again. Something in the air is burning. He takes a step back, and Ami can breathe.

"Did you say something?" Rei asks. A rose head snaps in her hand.

...

Sometimes, she gives in. It feels good to have someone to talk to, someone other than the girls or Mamoru. Someone who is familiar, but different. Curled in bed, she can almost feel his hand on her back, the softness of his skin under her cheek. With her eyes closed, she can tell herself she's just dreaming -- that her brilliant mind hasn't degenerated into something so twisted.

"You're not real," she says firmly. "Nothing will ever make you real."

"I'm dead," he corrects. "There's a distinctly pleasant difference."

She doesn't know what to say to that, so she doesn't say anything. He sighs, the sound of a summer breeze through cotton curtains, as if he knows what she's thinking.

"There really is a fine line between genius and insanity," he says.

If it would have made a difference, she'd have dug her fingernails into the tender flesh right above his un-beating heart.

...

Mamoru doesn't keep the box by his bedside anymore. He's created a shrine, a small room off to the side. It's clean and uncluttered. The box sits by itself on a high, marble table, facing the hallway like it's waiting for Mamoru to come walking back through the doorway. She feels almost guilty being there. When she touches the top of the dark, wooden lid, it almost feels like it burns -- like it knows she doesn't belong.

The four stones sit quietly in their velvet cushion, though. They're neutral. She's careful not to touch any of them. She knows about the properties of gems, what happens when you handle them incorrectly, and these are special. She's oh-so-very careful.

She's also a little afraid _he_ will suddenly appear -- the remnants of his last conscious thought. The idea makes panic prickle through her veins. It's almost silly, she thinks, considering how much time she's spent with him (or her memory of him) the last few months.

"Ami-chan?"

The lid snaps shut, and the sound reverberates around the room. Mamoru stands in the doorway. The box practically hums.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I..." What was she doing? The thought trails off, and she stands staring at the wall, dazed, as Mamoru comes to stand beside her.

"Are you okay?" he asks, placing a warm hand under her elbow. His other hand rests on the box lid.

"I'm fine." It's an automatic response now.

Mamoru's eyes are tight, but he strokes the lid affectionately. "They weren't bothering you, I hope? Behaving themselves?"

It takes her a second to realize he's teasing her, and she allows a small smile to pull at her face.

"No," she says. "They weren't bothering me."

There's an excuse on her lips, and he lets her go without asking any more questions -- like it is normal to find her there. She's halfway down the hallway before she slows to a complete stop, a flash of fear making her lightheaded. Since when had she stopped lying?

Sliding out of the shadows, Zoicite holds out a pale hand. She almost takes it, but her fingers fall through the empty air in front of his fingers. It's a loaded gesture. He smiles.

"Go away," she says petulantly, ashamed.

"When you don't want me, I will," he replies.

She knows what she wants. She wants to hate him, and tries to take a futile swipe at him with an open palm.

The sight of her hand running through nothing, the pressure of silence, hurts her more than his presence ever has.


End file.
